Brooklyn's Princess
by shortie is back
Summary: She saw Oscar as though he were far away, wiping her kiss off his lips; saying horrible things about her that she was too far away to hear." There's a new girl in Brooklyn... only, she's not quite a girl...


**Disclaimer-** I don't own the pretty boys. I don't own Brooklyn. I own my interpretation of Patrick, but Disney owns the name and such. Screw it, I'm out of good disclaimers.

**Alex's Note-** This is probably to be my most controversial story yet. It deals with _homosexuality, rape, _and _transgender issues_ as well as whatever else I decide to throw in along the way. It is the anti-marysue. Nuff said.

Read and review and the pickle gods will adore you.

**Brooklyn's Princess**

_Call me a fool and it's true I am…_

_I don't know who I am…_

She shot a furtive glace over her shoulder- he was gaining on her. She couldn't see him yet- she was fast, plus, she'd had a good head start- but his footsteps were audible somewhere not far behind. Her long, dark hair had long since come loose from its bindings and whipped freely around her face. Hastily, she pushed the thick locks back and out of her eyes, never slowing her pace. 

She'd been here before, a few times actually, each time with a different man chasing her. It was dangerous, yes, but the danger was what made it so exhilarating, so enticing- even if she was likely to be killed if she kept it up. In fact, she was likely to be killed tonight. Oscar Delancy was the epitome of danger; that was what had attracted her to him in the first place. And she always got what she wanted. Always. 

Her breath was coming in short pants now, her pace slowed considerably. She had to rest, but she couldn't. He'd kill her if he caught her, and she sure as hell wasn't letting that happen. Not tonight. 

She had to stop. Each breath burned a hole in her throat; her shoulder was painfully throbbing. But what was she supposed to do? Sit down in the middle of the god damn street like a beacon in the darkness, just waiting for him to come and beat the life out of her? Nah uh, not happening. It appeared, suddenly, between two large buildings as through on cue, as though it had been waiting for her, her savior.  Soundlessly she ducked into the well hidden nook. She leaned back against the wall and breathed heavily, relishing in the way her chest heaved dramatically when she breathed in.

The footsteps thudded right in front of her then stopped with a sickening thud of silence. He knew where she was.

"Where are you, you fucking _faggot_?" He called out into the darkness. His voice was mocking, and sounded not the least bit out of breath. "Come on out, Patrick, you fucking queer, you little piece of _shit_! Come out here so I can beat the crap out of you!"

It shouldn't have been funny, it really shouldn't have been. Oscar was livid. He hated people like her more than anything. He had told her that many times, and he had been part of a group that beat them and left them in the streets to die- she shouldn't be any different. And, yet, she had an amused smirk on her face. She was safe here, really. He wasn't a smart man, he wouldn't find her.

"You think this is funny, don't you, faggot? I know you're sitting here somewhere laughing to yourself about how fucking _clever _you are, eh, Patrick? I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna wipe that fucking smile off your fucking face." 

He was going to kill her for sure. She had never seen him this angry. A giggle escaped her lips, just audible enough for him to whip around and face the direction of the building she was curled behind.

Shit.

Strong, callused hands she knew so well grabbed her and hoisted her to her feet. She struggled, but he held her fast, his strength outweighing her own in his rage. "You're gonna wish you never messed with me, Patrick," he whispered harshly. He took hold of her collar and pulled her right up to his face. He let out a chuckle, "You're gonna wish you were never born."

He smelled of whisky, cigarettes and something else, something she couldn't quite place; something she could only associate with him. She realized right then that she'd miss him. She had known well from the beginning that it would end this way, that they would never be together, but she really felt something for him. It was ironic in a way.

"Y'know, we coulda been something," he said too calmly, looking right into her eyes. Despite herself, she relaxed. Without warning, he grabbed her hair and pulled. Hard. "Why you gotta be like this, Patrick, huh?" She winced. "You little fuck. You fucking queer, I should kill you right now; let it be a warning to all the other fucking _faggots _in this city."

So she was going to die. Fuck all if she was just going to accept it; if she was going to go, it was going to be with a bang. He was still holding her by the collar, much too close for comfort. Summoning up the last of her courage, she leaned in and kissed him firm on the mouth, the mouth she had kissed so many times before under much better circumstances; when he'd kissed her back with such a passion she'd wanted to die in his arms. 

She supposed she was finally getting what she wanted.

 His eyes widened in shock and disgust as he pushed her away. She wasn't prepared for the long fall to the cobblestones below; or for the beating that followed, fists raining down all over her, bruising her, making her bleed. She wasn't prepared for the final kick to the temple with one of his steel-toed boots. She wasn't prepared to the haze that followed; the darkness that was closing in quickly.

She saw Oscar as though he were far away, wiping her kiss off his lips; saying horrible things about her that she was too far away to hear.

And then the blackness overtook her. 

It was all over.


End file.
